By Chris Cole and Caitlin Arens
Few foods are more deeply connected to Chicago’s Puerto Rican community than the jibarito, a steak sandwich layered with cheese, garlic aioli, lettuce, tomato, and onions between two flattened and fried green plantains. Born in Humboldt Park, the sandwich has become more than a neighborhood staple. It is a reminder that recipes evolve as communities move, adapt, and redefine tradition. The jibarito was developed by Juan C. Figueroa as an homage to a sandwich he read about in a Puerto Rican newspaper while dreaming up ideas for growing the business at his restaurant, Borinquen, that uses plantains as bread. While Borinquen no longer operates in Humboldt Park, the legacy lives on in the ways it has been adapted since. Nearly three decades later, that legacy continues not through imitation, but through reinterpretation as a new generation of chefs build on the sandwich’s history while bringing their own cultural experiences.
In a city known for its sandwiches – namely Italian beef and the famous Chicago-style hot dog – Chicago-born chef and restauranteur Josean Irizarry brings a contemporary approach to the beloved jibarito by combining the fried plantains with a smash burger. Irizarry’s inspiration is his Mexican mother, whose warmth, hospitality, and community-centered values are reflected in his Humboldt Park restaurant, Smash Jibarito. The comfort and nostalgia of weekend mornings spent watching cartoons with a bolillo (a savory football shaped bread of Mexican origin) stuffed with ham and beans in hand inspired Irizarry to create a similar feeling that embodies Mexican hospitality for his customers:
“My mom’s Mexican, so she wasn’t really smashing burgers. But one thing I’ve been able to embody is how food is supposed to make you feel. Is it warm? Is it nostalgic? Can you relate to it?”
Those early memories became the foundation for a restaurant that reflects both sides of Irizarry’s Puerto Rican and Mexican heritage, translating familiar flavors and feelings into something entirely of his own. Irzarry continues:
“The jibarito was a happy accident. I wasn’t thinking, ‘I want to create something controversial.’ I just wanted to make a burger, but I didn’t want to be cliché and say, ‘Here’s a Hispanic burger with avocado or queso on it.'”
As any artist knows, the process of creating is often influenced by multiple sources – one’s identity, external media, and one’s emotions. Irizarry’s idea emerged similar to how Figueroa’s did – except instead of a newspaper article, Irizarry found inspiration on social media:
“I saw somebody make a slider with a round pressed plantain and thought, ‘That would be cool for a burger bun.’ That’s when it clicked. As I’m here thinking, ‘Oh, I have a cool burger,’ the history that unraveled with that concept was really enlightening. It gave me a sense of responsibility.”
After some improvements (namely changing to a 80/20 blend of beef), Irizarry debuted the smash jibarito with an emphasis on it being a gluten free option. The initial response was skepticism – deeming the sandwich controversial due to its deep roots, which led Irizarry to dive deeper into the Puerto Rican side of his heritage:
“I did not know the impact of that sandwich in our community. Once I understood that history, the question became: how do I help develop the future through this idea?”
His curiosity and learning only grew as he talked to more people and defined authenticity on his own terms through street festivals and music concerts, encouraging people to try it before judging it as a “gentrified sandwich.” As more people tried the sandwich and offered feedback, he started to recognize the threads connecting cultures that have long embraced plantains, including African, Dominican, and Latin American communities, each with their own culinary traditions and interpretations. Food as a bridgebuilder is what pushed his business forward:
“Food has always been one of those things where we get to push the boundary. What I love about it is that it advances the culture, but it also gets people wondering, ‘What else could we do?’”
It was his current business partner, Sophia, who first amplified the smash jibarito on social media, because she was curious to try Irizarry’s vegetarian option. The video ended up going viral and changed the narrative completely. What had initially been dismissed online became an invitation for conversation. People who first questioned the sandwich began engaging with it on its own terms, illustrating how food often changes minds more effectively than debate alone. Irizarry described this journey:
“From Thursday, you know, we were getting a bunch of hey, we were getting a bunch of why that, why this? By Sunday, they were inviting me to the baptism. They were telling me, ‘yo, bro, great idea.’”
It’s this humble approach to feedback and commitment to community that Irizarry brings into everything, including the recently opened coffee and cocktail lounge, Caña, in Chicago’s West Town neighborhood. Named after the sugarcane plant and featuring local artists, he’s hoping the space can serve as a gathering place for all generations where they can dream up their own ideas that might evolve traditional foodways into contemporary adaptations:
“If I could exemplify something that allows the next hundred people to say, ‘Yo, I could do that too,’ then we have a completely different environment moving into the next fifty years of food.”
Irizarry isn’t interested in creating the next fine dining restaurant because he wants the business to feed the hearts and families of everyone who works there by providing enough business and low enough costs to keep it around. Since he started the business with zero dollars and an idea, he wants to be a guide to other young people who want to do the same:
“I was just someone who liked something and pushed it and convinced everybody that it was good. But if I can exemplify something that allows the next generation to say, ‘I could do that too,’ that’s important.”
In this divided time where immigrant communities are threatened, there is no better path forward than sharing a meal together and connecting with our ancestors. Irizarry concludes:
“There was so much intersection between cultures throughout our history and ancestry. Now we’re seeing that come out through recipes and food. Food can actually bridge us together.”
Like the neighborhood that first gave it life, the jibarito remains what it has always been: not simply a recipe, but a living expression of Chicago’s Puerto Rican community and the generations that continue to shape it.